The Well
by Alice Ariell
Summary: What happens when your worst nightmare becomes your only savior? When Will's life is in peril, Hannibal Lecter must decide how far he is willing to go to protect him...and what games will Mason Verger play before the good doctor arrives?
1. Chapter 1

Dear Fannibals, good evening! This is inspired by the Nothing I know about the Vergers and how absolutely in love with the Second Season of Hannibal I am. I don't own anything of these incredible characters. I'm sure most of you will agree that this Haunted Horror House Roller Coaster of a series is macabre art at its contemporary height. I can't stop thinking about all of the allusions to sacrifice in Su-Zakana that make me so scared for Will. If you've read the books, you know what danger waits for him in Hannibal Lecter's embrace. I would argue that this show is the masterpiece of this canon-but that's just my very humble opinion. Anyway, I'll stop shipping this show (I'll never stop) and leave you to the first chapter.

The air is quiet in Wolf Trap as the predator eyes his prey. Will is resting peacefully in his rocking chair, waiting for Alana to return home with his dogs.

Applesauce had become lonesome, so she took the dogs to the park today to have a little visit. Will had intended to join them, but when she arrived at his home with Hannibal beside her, he felt the ghost of Abigail's ear in his gut and muttered something about feeling under the weather. He probably should not have said anything of the sort, because Hannibal had stepped forward and looked him over with great concern. Will had to bear the indecency with a blank expression, still holding the illusion of friendship before his mortal foe like a fragile piece of glass that a single breath could shatter. That smoke could sift its way through, back into the dark corners of his mind.

The bullet hits like the punchline to the cosmic joke of Will Graham's short and painful life. He rocks back, eyes gripping the gun like a raft as the world blurs around him. His fingers are suddenly sticky. He looks down to see his hands red with blood. His own. He loses balance, falling forward onto his knees.

Mason Verger swaggers forward into his line of vision, which is shrinking by the second. He strokes his gun before he aims it at Will's head. He is a handsome, petulant young man with the face of a boy and the mind of a sadist. He looks down at Will like a god looking upon the wreckage of a storm.

"Family is blood. You tried to take my family. You can't have it. But you can still pay me in blood," Mason says slowly, as though trying to explain something obvious to a rather slow child.

A vision of Margot blinds Will. He sees her as she was yesterday, floating on the lake. Her hair was in a neat ponytail and her emerald eyes reflected specks of gold in the sunlight.

Mason leans over and pushes the gun against the new wound in Will's chest, which makes him cry out and fall backwards. "Since Margot didn't have the decency to bring you home so her family could inspect you, I suppose that duty falls on me. People in _my _social standing can never be too careful about the swill our silly sisters trek in." He drags Will's now-limp body towards his car, drawing an ugly line of blood down the stairs.

…

"I still don't understand how you can treat him after all you've been through together," Alana says with a sigh. The sun in dimming orange against the park's green horizon.

"Will needs my help, Alana. Now, more than ever. I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself," Hannibal replies with amusement in his eyes.

"He tried to kill you. I can't excuse that."

"We don't yet know exactly what Dr. Chilton did to Will during his stay in the hospital. We have only just begun discussing his time there. And we cannot forget the damage the encephalitis has done to his brain. He will never be the man you knew before he killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

Alana shakes her head sadly. "I know. That's the problem. I hardly recognize him at all. I know if anyone can reach him, it would be you…but I wish you didn't have to."

"But you know how much I want to. How important it is to me to be able to look after him, after what happened."

"Yes."

"Will is my friend. I truly enjoy helping him with his work, but what I enjoy the most is helping him see his full potential. He has spent so much of his life afraid, Alana. I want to set him free. He's closer than he knows."

After a lovely afternoon in the park, Alana pulls up to Will's porch, her car full of barking dogs and Hannibal Lecter. He sits calmly in the passenger's seat, stroking a shaking Winston. He smells the blood and makes a terrible growl.

"See Winston, we're home. It's ok, boy," Alana croons, but Winston is shaking and barking loudly now. She honks her horn to get Will's attention, but the door to his little house remains closed. Hannibal sees the blood on the stairs but remains as still as stone. His grip on Winston tightens. Alana steps out of the car and opens the car doors to let all the dogs run onto the porch…which is when she sees the blood and gasps.

"Will!" she calls out. No response from inside. She rings the doorbell. Bangs against the old wooden frame.

Hannibal leans down, studies the blood. He notices a hole in Will's rocking chair. He imagines Will being shot. The very idea of someone else murdering his masterpiece is too much for him to stand. He frowns deeply and for a fraction of a second, is truly frazzled.

"Will! WILL!" she bellows as she continues to bang madly at his door.

Hannibal turns her and takes her by the shoulders. "He isn't here, Alana. You need to calm down. I believe I know who has taken him."

"What? What do you _mean_? You _knew_ he was in danger?"

"No, of course not," he looks at her in shocked reproach. "But I do know that he has befriended a patient of mine…a patient with a rather possessive and abusive brother. I warned him but…he seemed taken with her." He lets all of the new information crash against her like a wave. She does not let a single emotion flash across her face for fear of betraying the jealousy blooming in her heart. But Hannibal doesn't need a visual affirmation in this matter. He is far more concerned with Will. "I want you to stay here," he says before striding towards her car.

"Hannibal, wait! Where are you going? If Will was shot and taken…you _can__'__t _go without backup."

"I want you to call Jack Crawford. Tell him what we found here and that I think I know where to find him. Tell him to expect a call from me soon."

"No. _No. _Tell me where you're going," she asks desperately, clinging to his lapels.

"I can't trust you to stay away from this. You must trust _me_." With that, Hannibal drives off, leaving Alana in tears amidst a storm of anguished barking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Reviews are alllllllways welcome, please and thank you! I don****'****t have much time to devote to this story, (like my other Hannibal fics- alas!) but I have a dark and twisted **

**journey in mind for our favorite bromance that I just can****'****t resist writing! Your comments, favorites and follows will keep this story alive!**

"Will, can you hear me?" whispers a familiar voice.

He wants to reply, but he has been too deeply drugged to move a muscle. He can't even open his eyes. All he can do is lie still and wait for the inevitable ending. Or for Hannibal to find him. He can't tell which alternative appeals more to him…

"I hope you can hear me. I want you to know that beside you is a bathtub. I've filled it with hot water to help you relax. When I was a boy, my father would bathe me this way. When Margot has a child, I'll bathe it this way too."

Will feels hands grip him and pull him up. Mason gingerly lowers him into the tub. Will opens his eyes when his skin singes against the heat of the water. This does little for him, since the room is in darkness, a single candle illuminating Mason's pale skin. He is forced down under the water, thrashing and burning, the bullet wound in his side nearly forgotten. The candle is blown out. As he thrashes in the darkness, he feels something long and sleek slither under his back.

Margot rushes into the driveway when she sees Hannibal Lecter drive up. "What are you doing here?" she demands the moment he opens his car door.

"Have you heard from Will today?"

"What's going on?" she looks disheveled. Frenzied.

"Margot, why did you hang up the phone when I asked you that question?" Hannibal grips her shoulders with gentle strength. She looks into his eyes.

"I had to come home. I had to talk to Mason…he's locked the door that leads to the east wing. His…_he__'__ll kill him._"

Hannibal resents that Will has been drawn into a design that is not his own. "Show me this door."

As they rush into the Verger home, Hannibal casually flicks his phone into a potted plant as he follows Margot down the immaculate halls.

Mason casually saunters out of the bathroom, just as Hannibal bounds down the corridor. Without pausing a moment, he smashes Mason's head against an ornately framed mirror and flings the door open with a flourish. He sees Will lying still under the water, an eel splashing against him, its jaw deeply imbedded in his side.

Hannibal grips the eel by the face and squeezes until its tiny skull is crushed and its teeth unwillingly release their grip. He throws his arms into the water and pulls Will out of his

porcelain coffin. Lying him flat on the cold tiles, he feels for a pulse. When Hannibal is certain he is not breathing, he tilts his head back, places his lips against Will's and begins to blow air into his lungs. He checks for the rise and fall of breath. Another meeting of lips and exchange of life giving air. Will shudders under Hannibal's embrace. He shakes, gaping at the tub, then at the new wound in his side, then up into the well of Hannibal's eyes before losing consciousness.

"Jack, it's Will."

"Really?" A playful laugh. "Because you sound an awful lot like Alan-"

"JACK. Will is missing. Hannibal and I found blood on his porch," Alana says evenly into her cellphone. Dead silence.

Seconds pass like centuries. "Where and when was he last seen?" His voice betrays none of the exhaustion he feels.

"I took his dogs for a walk in the park around 12pm."

"That's nearly seven hours ago, Alana. He was at home? Alone?"

"Yes. As far as I know. He said he felt sick. He looked tired." She should have noticed something was wrong. Why didn't she notice? What would she see if she allowed herself to?

"And you're sure it's his blood?"

"There's a bullet hole in the porch rocking chair." More silence. They are both crumbling under the weight of their collective failure to protect him. "Hannibal said he thought he knew where Will was taken. Told me to call you. What if something goes wrong? I can't lose them both, Jack. I can't."

"Hannibal went to look for Will alone? Why would he do that?" Jack is a well of fury.

"He did it to protect me. He said Will had gotten close with one of his patients."

"Ok. I'll have the team sweep his office, check any pertinent records for…wait, hold on, I have an incoming call from Hannibal. I'll call you back." Jack switches lines and barks into the speaker, "What in the Hell is going on?"

"Jack. I'm sure you've heard from Alana. I went to where I believed Will may have been taken."

"Is Will alright?"

"He wasn't there."


	3. Chapter 3

Will wakes amidst blue satin sheets. His body feels weightless, a cloud hanging over an endless sea. He cannot sense the bullet wound. He cannot sense where the eel bit his flesh away. He cannot see the glass walls that enclose him in the dark cellar. His sight is coated with a milky haze which floods with light every time he opens his eyes. He imagines the sun hanging directly above his head. He sleeps.

Hannibal watches him sleep from beyond the glass. His mongoose has been suffering for so long, and now it is time to heal. He unlocks the door and enters his paradise prison. He fills a syringe with a calming concoction and steadies the needle against Will's arm.

In sleep, Will protests, but Hannibal shushes him and slowly administers the drug. Will looks even more fragile than he did after Jack shot him in Minnesota. His brain may now be functioning to its nearly full potential, but his body was still vulnerable to attack. Well. Not any more. Hannibal checks his wounds and decides to apply new bandages. He has done what he could with the medical supplies he keeps in storage, but Will needs blood and fluids badly. Hannibal sighs. He will have to leave Will alone for at least an hour to fetch the necessaries…

Chamber music fills Will's ears. The numbness begins to finally fade as he opens his eyes again. What he imagined was the sun was in reality a mere light bulb, hanging above him like the ones in the hospital. He scrunches his chin and looks down at his own prostrate form. His chest is bare and there are thick bandages surrounding his stomach. He looks up and sees the glass.

"_No.__" _There is a desert in his throat.

With a complete void of strength, he begins shifting. He wants to stand up. Walk out. Run. Never. Look. Back. He imagines the sea. If he could only get back to the sea. To the boat with his father. Hands twisting a lure. The complete freedom of anonymity. Of being quietly lonely in the world. Now he is never alone. Footsteps on the staircase.

Hannibal sits beside Will for long seconds before he speaks. "How do you feel?"

Will closes his eyes. "Accepting."

"Accepting of what you cannot control?"

"_Accepting_ control."

Hannibal tilts his head minutely. "What can you control?"

Will dares a smile. "You."

Hannibal studies his face. Then his eyes drift lower, to the bandages on his stomach. He presses down with the pressure of petals. Will does not move, though he wishes to wince. "Does it hurt when I touch you?" Hannibal asks innocently, all the while examining the bruising skin.

"This game isn't meant to end, is it?"

"This isn't a game, Will." Hannibal has moved past false assurances. He holds Will's wrist to check his pulse.

"Which is not meant to end, until…until when, doctor? When will you be satisfied?"

"I did not bring this upon you, Will. Do you remember what happened?"

Fingers wrenching his eyelids open. "Yes."

"Good." Hannibal turns and unlocks a metal cabinet beside the bed. He places the strobe down, angling it towards Will's eyes.

"I want you to close your eyes."

There is nothing to do but obey.

Pounding heart. Smell of saltwater. A welcoming heat.

"You are waking. Calm. Waking in a safe place."*

"I am awake. Calm. Safe."

"You want to sleep, but you cannot. There is too much to do."

"What do I have to do." All the texture is gone from Will's voice.

Hannibal's eyes smile. "You must become your highest self."

"How."

"You will need a blade."

Light pounds against his eyelids like a battering ram.


End file.
